Walking in the Silver
by Kang Xiu
Summary: Jehan Prouvaire dabbles in magic. An Amis fic with Marius as a main character, lud love a duck. We're taking up a collection toward Jehan's getting a psychiatrist... Please donate.


Well. Contrary to what you all thought, I have not dematerialised or self-destrusted. I'm working on a dreadfully long project which is taking a while, so I may not write for a while, until it's finished. Also, fanfiction.net seems to have done something peculiar with formatting, so there aren't any italics in this fic, I do believe. And originally there were lots. Cookies if you can figure out where they were supposed to be... ::whispers little annoyed noises to the wind::

  
  
Walking in the Silver  
  
Jehan lay quietly on his bed, reading a large, dusty book with soft brown leather for a cover. It was winter now, and cold, and he liked nothing better than reading in bed, wrapped in blankets. Any moment and someone would call him for dinner, but he'd stay in his room as long as he could. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek for a moment against the pages of the book. He was awfully happy...  
  
Suddenly he sat upright and looked towards the door, accidentally dropping the book to the floor. Of course, the door was still closed. He sighed, sat back, and wrinkled his nose. He hated noises. The house was full of them, and he was continually mistaking them for anything they weren't.  
  
He climbed off the bed, stretching a little, and picked up the book.  
  
"Pauvre. I'm always dropping things." He stroked the cover lovingly, and opened it back to the right place. It was then he realised he wasn't at the right place.  
  
Perhaps it was Combeferre who first wondered where Jehan went away for so long. Perhaps it was Courfeyrac, who teased him so many times over his tousled hair and shy, bewildered eyes. Perhaps it was Joly, asking why he smelled of odd flowers no one had ever heard of. But it was Pontmercy who finally asked him why he left.  
  
"Jehan--" he laid a small hand on Jehan's sleeve, watching him hopefully.  
  
"Marius?"  
  
"You aren't going away, are you? Not again?"  
  
"I have to."  
  
"I'll miss you." He sighed. "You're the only one who understands about Ursula--it's because you're a poet, and you understand such things as love--I'll miss you."  
  
"I miss you, too, when I'm gone, Marius. But I'll be back by the end of the week. I needn't be away so long this time. You'll tell me what I've missed when I get back, won't you?"  
  
"Of course I will," Pontmercy promised, though Jehan thought he wouldn't. He would forget. It didn't bother Jehan; Pontmercy was sweet, and he could always ask Combeferre.  
  
He kissed Pontmercy's cheek. "All right. Au'voir."  
  
"Oh--Jehan--why do you go?"  
  
He stiffened. "I--I visit a friend of mine. He's awfully sick." Only Jehan could say it worriedly and earnestly enough to be believed. Pontmercy nodded.  
  
"I hope, then, for your sake as much as his, that he gets better."  
  
"Thank you." Jehan smiled. "I'll tell him so. But I must go. Au'voir, Marius."  
  
"Au revoir..."  
  
Jehan returned in a week, as he'd promised, with little tiny pieces of ivy in his hair. When Combeferre mentioned it, he said his friend had a little daughter, and they'd played the morning before he left. Courfeyrac laughed and wished aloud he could play with children instead of corrupting them. Joly whapped him with a folded newspaper.  
  
Jehan went home as soon as possible.  
  
When he was home, he unpacked his bag and spread out all his new things on the table. There were four new boxes, all covered with careful carving and lacquer, and two new bottles, stopped up with coloured corks, and there were also two celadon-glazed jars sealed very tightly, that sounded as though they were full of sand when shaken. Jehan put some things away, and kept others out, and checked four times over that everything was correct. It wasn't that he was afraid of what he had; only cautious with it.  
  
An hour later, he heard a knock at the door.  
  
"Just a moment! A moment, please!" He stumbled, scrabbling for his bedspread, and wrapped it about his shoulders, then opened the door breathlessly.  
  
Pontmercy smiled. "Jehan, I--oh, Jehan, you've forsythia in your hair."  
  
"Yes, yes, I do. Why did you come?"  
  
"I brought a list of all the things you missed. I wrote it all down, so I wouldn't forget."  
  
"Oh." Jehan felt sorry. "Thank you. Do come in for a moment; I'm sorry. All my things are everywhere." He hurried to shut the boxes and put away the jars. "I'm awfully sorry."  
  
"No, don't be. How is your friend?"  
  
"He's--he's not at all well. I might have to go down again in two weeks, though not for as long a time." Suddenly, Jehan looked wistful. "His daughter is wonderful. I don't know what will happen to her if he... dies."  
  
Pontmercy put his hand on Jehan's blanket-clad shoulder, meaning to be comforting. Accidentally, he dislodged the blanket, and it slipped off.  
  
"Oh, God."  
  
"Marius!"  
  
"Jehan--what are you--?"  
  
"Marius, don't! Please, wait a moment! It's nothing!"  
  
But Jehan could see Pontmercy didn't think it nothing. He couldn't blame him, really. From Jehan's thin shoulderblades two long, soft, grey wings had grown, with their tips touching the floor. Pontmercy was staring at him, looking terrified.  
  
Quickly, Jehan put his hands on Pontmercy's shoulders, holding him there. "It's nothing. They'll go away in a little while. I only needed them for to-night," he said desperately.  
  
"Jehan!"  
  
"I swear! They'll go! You should have come an hour earlier, or an hour later. Please don't be frightened of me."  
  
"What are you?"  
  
"I'm nothing. It's nothing." Jehan took a deep breath. "I just--come sit with me? I'll explain. I'm sorry."  
  
Slowly Pontmercy consented to be led to the bed, and sat down on it. Jehan sat in front of him with his knees drawn up.  
  
"Jehan..."  
  
"I'll explain. My--my grandmother left my father books. They were beautiful books, Marius; they smelled of dried roses and they were huge and covered all in leather, and I loved them. I just didn't know what they meant. I was too young to understand, I suppose. But when I was ten, I dropped one of them on the floor, and when I picked it up again it had fallen open to the four-hundreth page. And the book was only three hundred pages long, Marius." Jehan shivered and took Pontmercy's hand. "And I read it all, all the rest of it that I hadn't found before. I--I made something that was in it. It was awfully simple and I know that now; but it seemed so big when I first did it. It was the first thing I'd ever made."  
  
"Then you're a wizard, aren't you? You make magic."  
  
"Wizard isn't right. The others don't call me anything but Jehan. I'm not anything but Jehan. I promise it's so. I'm just Jehan, and what I do is just a trait. We call you Pontmercy or Marius, not the lover. We know you're in love, but that's part of you, not what you are. You'll think of me the same?"  
  
"Of course..." Pontmercy shuddered. "My God. I can hardly believe it, Jehan."  
  
"I--I know. Marius, I'll be back in a little while. I must go now while I still have the wings. Will you wait for me?"  
  
"Yes... Yes, I'll wait."  
  
Jehan embraced him thankfully, put the blanket about his shoulders again, and slipped out.  
  
For a few moments, Pontmercy tried not to look around, but only for a few moments. He got off the bed and went to Jehan's desk, turning over one of the carved boxes and tracing the carvings with his fingers. At first the room had seemed ordinary, but the more he looked around, the more things he found to prove otherwise. Jehan kept a small chart with constellations on it pinned to the wall, and above his bed there was a tiny golden charm with a stem of rosemary threaded through it. Beside the bed, Pontmercy found a stack of books, huge books that smelled like dried roses.  
  
When Jehan returned, with a small basket of blue roses in his arms, he found Pontmercy sitting at the desk reading one of the books.  
  
"Marius!"  
  
Pontmercy jumped. "Jehan!"  
  
Jehan put the blanket back on the bed, and Pontmercy saw that the wings were nearly gone. They'd become tiny little lumps of feather, and he thought he could see them shrinking while he looked at them. Meanwhile, Jehan was putting the roses away in a tall jar he got out from under the bed.  
  
"I wish you wouldn't read my books," he said softly.  
  
At once, Pontmercy closed it. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Please don't be. Just don't read my books. Marius, are you going to tell anyone?"  
  
"Of course not!" Pontmercy stared. "They'd laugh at me, anyway.."  
  
Jehan sighed, and sat on the bed. "Thank you. I don't want anyone to know. I'm sorry you found out."  
  
"Jehan, you don't really have a sick friend, do you?" Pontmercy asked anxiously.  
  
"Oh! no. No, I don't. He's not really sick at all." Jehan laughed in relief. "No. He's very well, and he teaches me things. I'm in love with his daughter, his first daughter. He has two," he added. "Her name is Gabrielle and she's beautiful. He seems to approve of it. I suppose he wants our families to be linked."  
  
"You are wealthy, aren't you?"  
  
"Awfully," Jehan said wistfully. "My parents wouldn't approve at all."  
  
"I doubt my grandfather would, either. For me, I mean. He's horrid." Pontmercy sighed. "It's late. I think I ought to go, Jehan."  
  
"All right." Hurriedly Jehan stood, and blushed. "I'm sorry. I'm a dreadful host. It's why I see so few people. Good-night, Marius. Sleep well."  
  
"And you. Good-night."  
  
Jehan shut the door quietly behind him, and went to the desk. He thumbed through his books, looking for a spell for forgetfulness.  
  
Two weeks later, he went down again to visit his friend, who was "having a relapse". This time it was Combeferre who expressed hope for his friend's speedy recovery.  
  
Jehan met Gabrielle at the gates of the long drive up to Denis' manor. She was wearing a bright green dress with silver on it that shivered in the wind, and he thought her the most beautiful thing in the world.  
  
"Gabrielle!"  
  
"Bonjour, Jehan! You didn't walk all the way here, did you?" she laughed.  
  
"Oh, no! The post carriage just doesn't go this far. I got off in town and have just been walking from there."  
  
She smiled. "Father is waiting for you."  
  
"Thank goodness. I have so many things to tell him, Gabrielle, and I've been very worried."  
  
"Well, you needn't be so now. We'll make things all right."  
  
A month later, Jehan stopped his trips into the country. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and explained to Combeferre that his friend had died.  
  
He began to regret causing Pontmercy to forget. He would have been happy if he'd had someone he could explain things to. When he asked Denis for Gabrielle, he'd been turned down, and he still didn't know why. He was quite sure he couldn't go back, and he practised his magic at home, without going for instructions. He very nearly gave it up. It was only all the work he'd put into it and all the things he had that made him stay with it. He had convinced himself his heart was broken, and he had no one to tell.  
  
In a few weeks, he let Enjolras' speeches comfort him, and he listened intently and devotedly. At first, it was because he was miserable, and he wanted to die, and he thought it could at least be helping a good cause; but later it changed, and he loved the revolution because he cared for all the world and wanted the world's people to be happy.  
  
He thought of other things, and read books that weren't full of spells and symbols and herbs. He wrote poetry. He made himself dear to all his friends, and Courfeyrac still teased him about his tousled hair and shy, bewildered eyes, but he teased him gently. Bossuet cheerfully related his woes, and Bahorel prodded him and insisted he write epics about the glory of freedom. In time, Jehan learned to fall in love with other girls, and adore them without their ever knowing until suddenly another goddess charmed his soul from him. He was happy again.  
  
Once, though, he made a spell to see where Gabrielle was and what she was doing. In the bowl of wine, he saw her laughing and playing with her younger sister. She seemed happy, too.  
  
He was glad.  
  
Fin 


End file.
